


143, A Destiel Ficlet

by Ensignabby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester Saves Castiel from the Empty, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, One Shot, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:21:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28923492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ensignabby/pseuds/Ensignabby
Summary: “What’s this?” Dean asks, putting down his burger and sucking some errant barbecue sauce from his thumb before reaching for the proffered box.Cas had slipped it across the library table, letting his fingers linger when Dean’s meet his, and reluctantly relinquishes the small wrapped gift. The angel shrugs and seems awkward and unsure, which Dean finds nothing but adorable. “It’s, uh, well it’s for you. To commemorate.”
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 96





	143, A Destiel Ficlet

“What’s this?” Dean asks, putting down his burger and sucking some errant barbecue sauce from his thumb before reaching for the proffered box.

Cas had slipped it across the library table, letting his fingers linger when Dean’s meet his, and reluctantly relinquishes the small wrapped gift. The angel shrugs and seems awkward and unsure, which Dean finds nothing but adorable. “It’s, uh, well it’s for you. To commemorate.”

“Commemorate? What day is it?” Dean relies heavily on cases to create the context of his calendar, and after a few days at the bunker, he starts to lose track. When did they part ways with Sammy and Eileen when they finished that vamp nest? Thursday?

Cas sighs, only mildly put-out that Dean doesn’t automatically know. “It’s the eighteenth of September.”

“Eighteenth of...” It comes to Dean like a flash, like the burst of fresh air that hit his lungs those years ago as he emerged from the pit. “Cas...” He looks down at the carefully wrapped box with new understanding. “Is this an anniversary present?”

He is answered by small “yes” and a delightful pink hue spreading through Cas’ cheeks and reaching to the tips of his ears. “Aw, babe... Well, a Happy ‘Grip Me Tight’ to you, too. Although, I hadn’t thought to get you anything. I didn’t really know if dates mattered to you much, given, you know, the fact that you existed since practically ever.”

Cas looks away, lost in some faraway thought. “They didn’t. The unending march of millennia bears no consequence to the constancy of heaven, but,” he turns back to Dean, his blue eyes piercing his green ones. “The day I met you, I started counting. It’s the only date that has ever mattered.”

It’s Dean’s turn to blush now, and he doesn’t know how to respond to such unabashed declarations like that. He never has. They always steal his breath and sting his eyes. He clears his throat and reaches across the table to squeeze his angel’s hand in a silent gesture before bringing his attention back to the small box on the table.

Wrapped in light blue, Dean makes short work of the paper and finds a small wooden ring box. It makes his hands tremble. He knows what boxes like this mean. Does Cas? One glance up at the expectant face across from him tells him that he probably does. A deep breath steadies him and Dean opens the box.

The ring is platinum, a plain band with beveled edges that suits Dean’s sensibilities well. “Castiel...” he murmurs, taking it out of its setting to further appreciate the design. The soft yellow glow of the bunker’s lights reflects off the surface, highlighting the small engraving hidden in the inside of the band. “143...” He looks up again, seeing Cas’ obvious pleasure in watching Dean admire his gift. “What does 143 mean?”

Cas leans in further. “I don’t know if you’re familiar with a man named Fred Rogers”

“Mr. Rogers? From TV? Of course, I do. The man was the closest thing I had to a grandfather growing up.” He thinks back to when he was little, where in a life of inconsistency he could always rely on the fact that every motel room had a television. And every television gave him access to that calming figure who told him it was okay to feel what he felt, even if John Winchester said different.

Cas elaborates. “Fred was a remarkable man. His place in heaven was secured for him long ago, and when Jack tore down the walls, I can assure you, he had a crowd waiting to greet him.”

“I can imagine.”

“What I admired most about him was his ability to see the good in everyone, to trust in the best in humanity. And he would always say to those that were listening, honestly and without reservation, ‘I like you, just the way you are.’ It’s a beautiful sentiment.”

Dean watches Cas speak, a small grin on his face, enjoying watching his partner enthuse about the host of a children’s television show, of all things. He flips the ring over again, feeling the weight of it, noting that this ring looked perfectly sized for his fourth finger on his left hand. “Where does the 143 come in?”

“May I?” Asks Cas, not waiting for an answer before leaving his seat and coming around the edge of the table. He takes the hand of Dean’s that’s holding the ring and holds it between both of his, finding himself kneeling next to him, prostrate before the object of his affection.

“Fred always liked this number. You see, it stood for something. One letter for the first word; four letters for the second word; and three letters for the third word. One. Four. Three.”

Something clicks in Dean’s brain. “I Love You.” He says, breath hitching.

“And I do, Dean Winchester. I love you, just the way you are. Just the way I always have from the first time I saw you. You are always beautiful to me.” Castiel is smiling through tears, taking the ring out of Dean’s hand and easing it gently over the knuckle of his ring finger. “That number serves as a reminder, and if you let me, I promise I will spend the rest of our lives making sure you will never need it.”

And dammit, now Dean is crying too. Fat, warm tears that blur his vision and spill unrestrained until he uses his free hand to wipe his face on his flannel. “Cas, did you just propose to me using a quote from Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood?”

Castiel’s smile starts to waver, “Was that not clear? I thought this was...”

Dean rolls his eyes. “C’mere” and he drags the angel up from his knees by the lapels of his trench coat, depositing him squarely in his lap. Leaving Cas no time to acclimate, he tangles his fingers in the nape of that dark hair and pulls him in, a crashing of lips, heat and stubble. And love. So much love.

After a moment, Cas pulls back panting, looking disheveled and glorious. “So, I take that it’s a yes?”

Dean drinks in those brilliant blue eyes only inches from his, the glint of the engagement ring on his hand, and he can’t help but feel like every inch of him is vibrating with happiness. “Of course, it is,” he breathes, and he leans in again to kiss his fiancé.

_Oh, it’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for the response I received on Tumblr. :) If you want to take a look, I'm on there as ensignabby as well.  
> Comments mean so much to me - I crave constant validation! :-p


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